


I’d Rather Stay and Burn Forever Than Find a Stray Heart to Love

by oneforyourfire



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-18 04:57:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11867214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/oneforyourfire
Summary: And this Chanyeol thing, it doesn't make much sense, considering justhow muchSehun likes girls





	I’d Rather Stay and Burn Forever Than Find a Stray Heart to Love

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: internalized homophobia and queer angst, biting, brief, onesided chansoo
> 
>  
> 
> title from cyril hahn’s “inferno,”

Chanyeol has this voice he uses sometimes when he's excited—really, really excited about something. It's higher pitched than his regular speaking voice, more booming and demanding, persuasive for most other people, Sehun thinks. But Sehun and Chanyeol, they've been best friends long enough for its effects to have mostly worn thin. And Sehun hardly flinches now as a very, very animated Chanyeol steps into their shared dorm kitchen to tell him. He really—Oh Sehun, he really needs to—he just met the most—fuck Sehun, he’s so—

Chanyeol gestures wildly. His cheeks are flushed, bangs plastered to his forehead, probably from running here, and Sehun looks up with mild interest from where he’s been stirring his Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, eyebrow cocked in mild interest. Too much, and Chanyeol will go wild with it.

“Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol bellows. "His name is Kyungsoo."

“Kyungsoo?” Sehun repeats.

And yes, yes that’s his _name_. The boy, the boy that he’s fallen in love with. Oh, Sehun, he is so small, so pretty, and he has this voice like melted chocolate, like your favorite sweater fresh out of the dryer. And Chanyeol he’s been noticing him for a while now, you know, sitting next to him for the past 3 weeks of the semester, but today, he asked Chanyeol for a pencil, and he hummed this little tune under his breath, and Sehun—Sehun his fucking lips, his fucking voice, his fucking eyes, fuck, he just—

Chanyeol breaks off with this distressed sound. Rarer, it’s the sound of new EPs, of concert flyers, of local conventions, of new game releases. Potential disappointment laced with longing, the most precarious hope.

Sehun blinks, and Chanyeol sighs dreamily, gaze flickering upwards in some no-doubt cotton candy tinged romantic fantasy.

Holding hands, trading bubble-gum kisses, playing guitars in the park, whatever the fuck Chanyeol considers most romantic in his awful oversized melon of a head.

Sehun turns back to his mac and cheese, pointedly ignoring Chanyeol as the elder just continues. He’s gaining steam, waxing poetic still about how—fuck, Sehun, really, he should really see how amazing he is, this boy. He’s so fucking beautiful, like a fucking _angel_ come just for Chanyeol to love and care for and treasure.

“I'm gonna marry him,” Chanyeol decides. Then shakes his head, frowns. “I'm gonna put my tongue in his mouth. Gonna stick my hand down his pants.”

He nods solemnly, seemingly deciding then and there. So resolved into action that he erases Sehun’s notes on their magnetized whiteboard—a grocery list, a general reminder to go to the library to return his books—and writes Kyungsoo’s name instead. His Hangul is clumsy, letters elementary school kid blocky.

Sehun wrinkles his nose, stirring the soup contemplatively now.

He turns the stove off when he finishes a minute later, fetches an extra bowl without being asked.

Chanyeol presses a nauseatingly, irritatingly tender kiss to his cheek, thanks him loudly for always looking after him even though he’s the hyung.

 

Chanyeol tends to cast a wide net. In shallow waters, Sehun thinks in his less forgiving moments. White noise for the sake of filling the silence, regardless of personality or character. Just because like a child, Chanyeol can’t hold on to just one toy, can’t be content with just enough. Chanyeol’s attention is ever-fleeting, hard to arrest. It’s special that Sehun is still, after all these years, his favorite.

And in spite of his earlier fervor, his utter genuinity when rhapsodizing about Kyungsoo, Sehun isn’t expecting Chanyeol to still be so enthused about in the morning. For him to be declaring, over cereal, around his mouthful of Frosted Flakes, that he has English again tomorrow, he needs to go shopping for new clothes, maybe get a haircut, can Sehun come around after class. They can go to Target, there’s a Supercuts right next door. Chanyeol really needs his input. Sehun loves him enough to be brutally honest.

He agrees begrudgingly around his spoon, squinting as Chanyeol rises, sets his dish in the sink but doesn't wash it, ignoring Sehun’s pointed glare.

He erases his earlier edit. English now. “Mission: Get Into Kyungsoo’s Pants.”

Chanyeol whips out his phone, creates a Google calendar event. He gives himself a month to see this project through. Sehun, more realistically, adds another 3 weeks when annotating the mission on his own phone.

 

This isn’t their first mission. No, that had been when Sehun was 6, Chanyeol 8.

Chanyeol had found out about the ~secret passages—corded off attic—in his home, insisted that an overalled Sehun accompany him in his exploration. Maybe they’d even rescue a damsel in distress and find treasure like in that Pirate movie that Chanyeol wasn’t supposed to watch but Joonmyun hyung hadn’t know better. So one summer noon, while Joonmyun hyung was distracted, cutting the crusts off their tuna sandwiches, they’d gone exploring. Treasure hunters with Chanyeol’s mom’s scarves as bandanas, a backpack full of supplies—a blunt swiss army knife, a yo-yo, a handful of Rice Krispie treats—they’d set off. But Sehun had fallen while scrambling to catch up with Chanyeol and scraped his knee, ripping his favorite overalls, bleeding into the fabric. He’d tried really, really hard not to cry because then Joonmyun hyung and Chanyeol’s parents would have known and they might have taken away Chanyeol’s Gameboy or his bike. Or worse, might have decided that Chanyeol was a “bad influence” and force Sehun to stay home and find a new best friend.

Chanyeol, solemn and caring, he had clapped his bigger hand over Sehun’s knee to stop the flow of blood, kissed the scrape with his chapped lips, called him a brave, brave explorer for already having a battle scar. He had held Sehun’s hand the entire day.

Kyungsoo—this mission involving Kyungsoo—it will probably be as ultimately fruitless, result in some injury, but Chanyeol deserves at least the benefit of a doubt and Sehun’s full support.

And Sehun resolves to help, as he always has.

 

That afternoon, after his Chemistry lab, even though he’s fucking tired, Sehun accompanies Chanyeol to Target, Supercuts, the froyo place afterwards, Chanyeol’s treat.

Chanyeol describes Kyungsoo at great(er) length as he sifts through clothing racks of polos, deliberates over hats and shoes, makes his hair artfully disheveled. Kyungsoo’s in choir, he wears the pin. And his hair falls in his eyes sometimes. And wow, has Chanyeol talked about Kyungsoo’s lips because wow Kyungsoo’s lips.

Laden with white bags carrying his new clothes, shoes, refrigerator magnets, wall decals, post-its, highlighters, and a bulletin board, Chanyeol plops down across from Sehun on the table. He smiles at him winningly, expectantly as Sehun pushes Chanyeol’s little blue cup. Chanyeol, his hands occupied, had coached Sehun through this particular concoction. It’s a mess of pistachio, chocolate, lemon frozen yogurt, piled high with gummy bears, candy bar pieces, sprinkles. Chanyeol smiles at him around the pink plastic spoon, humming at the first taste. Sehun stirs at his own red velvet yogurt, occasionally tapping his foot against Chanyeol’s beneath the table.

 

Tonight, they’re skipping Wing Tuesday. So Chanyeol orders two meat lovers pizzas, two liters of Coke when they get home. He uses them as leverage to wrangle Sehun into another discussion, the specifics this time. They need more concrete goals.

Chanyeol uses his study planner, post its, thumb tacks, Sehun's color printer, Google Image searches of "hearts" and "cute gay boy kissing" and "cute gay love," and his fucking _vision board_. He outlines a five step plan.

1\. Introduce himself  
2\. Get Kyungsoo's number, initiate friendship  
3\. Propose "friendship dates" but flirt _heavily_  
4\. Get a real date, charm the _fuck_ out of him  
5\. Put hands down his pants

"What if he's not gay?" Sehun offers, sucking a pepperoni into his mouth, washing it down with a sip of soda.

But Chanyeol pointedly ignores him, decides to draw a treble clef—since music is something that both he and Kyungsoo have in common. He tacks it by the cute picture of two teddybears kissing that he found. He freehands a rainbow heart, too.

Feeling particularly sentimental around his third slice, Chanyeol renames the mission. _Be the man that Kyungsoo wants in his pants_. He writes it in all caps on a caterpillar post-it note, sticks it to the very middle of his _vision board_ , smile dreamy, eyes wistful.

He hangs the mission statement up right in the middle of their living room, beneath his "Got Kimchi?" poster. For motivational purposes, of course.

Sehun steals another slice and wanders barefoot into his room to study for Chem.

 

Squinting at the formula on the pages, Sehun recalls another mission. How at eleven, Chanyeol had wanted to be a superhero, how he had decided that he _would_ be after watching a scratched VHS of Mighty Morphin Power Rangers. None too creative, he’d called himself Ferret Man.

Sehun, less heroic _to be honest_ , had been relegated to sidekick. Hamster Lad. But he had felt accepted, warm even in Chanyeol’s shadow, cradled in the perfect warmth of Chanyeol’s regard. A child himself, given some sort of concrete purpose, true responsibility, Sehun had felt useful. He’d felt important. He’d felt truly, truly heroic.

Together, they’d rescued Mr. Lee’s cat from a tree, helped find Byunghun’s missing bike, convinced Jino to tell the teacher about his bully, before abandoning that endeavor for other, more exciting adventures.

And Sehun, he’s always liked feeling useful, feeling important, feeling heroic, feeling warm for Chanyeol’s sake.

 

The next day, Wednesday, Sehun has to open at the campus bookstore. Sipping with a grimace from his energy drink-filled thermos, he texts Chanyeol “good luck, hyung.” He adds Japanese emoticons for further morale. But he knows as he fixes his polo, opens the registers, then the front doors, greets his coworkers, that Chanyeol won’t respond until probably lunchtime, when he awakens for “breakfast” and gets ready—agonizes in preparation—for his 4:00PM class.

Sehun spares a glance at his watch. The moment of Chanyeol’s reckoning, T-minus 6 hours 58 minutes.

It’s Parent’s Weekend this Friday, and some have already shown up. Purposeless, more than vaguely awkward, they idle near the school memorabilia, sift through sweaters and decals and pens, all the while joking about their very grown up children.

Sehun, engaging salesman that he is, manages to charm a few into buying their pricier items—sweaters, glass paperweights, personalized decals—before the end of his shift.

Then backpack slung over his shoulder, he heads to the mess hall for a Grilled Cheese sandwich. His phone is blinking with notifications—Jongin asking for notes, Jongdae wishing him a good morning, an email from his mom asking him to call for his father’s birthday, but none from Chanyeol. Sehun takes silence as a tacit admission of defeat.

Wiping greasy fingers on cheap napkins, taking one last long drag from his fountain drink pink lemonade, he texts Jongin to come by before Pie Rush, sends Jongdae a vaguely flirty message, emails his father about Skyping on Friday.

He heads straight to his Art History lecture from there.

 

There are no updates on his walk home either, and he has a chance to shower, change, start his course reading before he’s being ushered into Jihoon’s mother’s retired soccer van.

But as they’re crammed into the seats, along with Minho, Jongin, Baekhyun, Jino, Byunghun, Jongdae, Wonshik—all the Asian students on campus that mother hen Jongdae has managed to wrangle into their friendship group—knocking elbows and knees, rattling with every speed bump, Chanyeol counters Sehun’s earlier assumption. He _did_ introduce himself, even got a _smile_ and a full 5 minute conversation before the professor walked in. He completed the first step, easy peasy. (Not that Sehun had any doubt honestly, because Chanyeol—for all of his puppy dog lovesickness—is still an engaging, extroverted, charming, handsome guy. And most people are helpless to the appeal of his megawatt smile). Bumping shoulders with Sehun as he gestures wildly, unnecessarily, he airily outlines his plan for his other friends, too.

Jongdae, from the front seat, pronounces it a noble cause.

Seated across from Sehun, alternating between scooping lemon meringue pie and tabasco-covered scrambled eggs into his mouth, Chanyeol elaborates even further on his conversation. It was about music, and Chanyeol had initiated by pointing to the earbuds hanging around his shoulders. Kyungsoo has the _ideal_ music taste— _fuck_ —is his fucking musical soul mate, and Chanyeol really, really likes him.

He breaks off with a dreamy sigh.

Sehun feels the faintest flare of surprise at the admission because Chanyeol, he doesn’t usually—

At Sehun’s side, inspired to contribute with information about his own love life, too, Jongin talks about Irene, the cute bagel girl at Einstein’s that keeps smiling at him with her _eyes_. And Jino and Minho counter that, no, she’s smiled at _them_ with her eyes, so clearly, he’s confused. Jongin squirms, blushes, stammers about how her hands brush his every time he order.

“Has she smiled at you?” Jongdae cuts in, a deciding factor, and Sehun nods curtly. Jongin flushes even darker, murmurs something about he can’t tell them _anything_ and why does Chanyeol get to have a crush that everyone supports, but Jongin can’t. And why are they so mean to him, he’s the youngest. Why don’t they take care of him, isn’t he a good dongsaeng why are they always like this.

He shovels a malicious forkful of blueberry pie into his mouth as he protests.

 

Chanyeol, after that promising start, really kickstarts his plan into action.

Step two and three come natural, too.

Chanyeol forms an easy friendship within the first week, light chats that he recalls in vivid, animated detail to Sehun. He’s a little reluctant at first—shy, Chanyeol says—but he relents on Chanyeol’s second request. And two weeks in, halfway into his self-imposed deadline, Chanyeol invites Kyungsoo to Wing Tuesday.

Kyungsoo comes over to their apartment first, and Sehun makes sure to hide the vision board, erase the whiteboard, make their house presentable, since Chanyeol is obviously fighting an uphill battle in trying to claim Kyungsoo as his own. Or rather, trying to be the kind of man that Kyungsoo wants to claim.

 

Sehun answers the door while Chanyeol fusses and angsts and generally grumbles over his outfit, his cologne, his _hair_ , fuck were they really sure he’d picked the right hairstyle????

And oh, Chanyeol really hadn’t been lying. Kyungsoo really is a looker, standing there in his black cotton shirt, dark-washed jeans.

He’s small, strikingly handsome, dark-eyed and more than vaguely mesmerizing, and yeah Sehun decides if he was into boys, yeah Kyungsoo would be the kind of boy he’d want, too. Pretty and plush-lipped, but slightly uncomfortable, maybe even bored, he’s definitely a catch. Sehun plasters on his most charming smile as he ushers him inside. “Do you need help finding anything?” wide. “I’m Sehun,” he offers.

And Kyungsoo’s lips crinkle into a smile in response. The heart-shaped one that Chanyeol had sighed about, and it really is disarming.

Stepping through the threshold, shoving his hands in his pockets, rolling his shoulders, Kyungsoo introduces himself, too. And Chanyeol bursts through the room with a loud “Welcome,” smile so so wide and eyes fucking twinkling.

 

The van is extra crammed that night, and they have to request a bigger table. Chanyeol can barely contain his wide grin when Kyungsoo sits on his lap, then sits across from him. He pointedly ignores Jongdae’s and Jihoon’s less than subtle ribbing as he flirts and flirts and flirts. Not in his usual seat—across from Chanyeol, squeezed between Jongdae and Jino—feeding on Chanyeol’s nervous energy, Sehun feels slightly off kilter throughout the entire encounter, skin and chest just a little too tight. He more pokes than eats his wildberry pie.

There’s a lingering goodbye in the aftermath, a Chanyeol-initiated hug as they drop off Kyungsoo, second to last. Jihoon has to honk his horn.

Sehun feels the most muted flare of panic—unexplained panic—in his chest.

 

“He’s pretty,” Sehun offers, trying to disguise the distress in his voice as they step through the door kick off their shoes. He thinks he manages something between icy and wavery, but Chanyeol—bless him—doesn’t notice. Still fucking glowing with residual happiness at just the mention of Kyungsoo.

Chanyeol demands they dissect the night—every single moment, Sehun had been paying attention,right?—and Sehun falls asleep in his bed. This is hardly the first time—prior missions and horror movies and sick days, noted—but it is the first time in a while. Even then it’s familiar, warm, comfortable in Chanyeol’s ever tight, koala-cling of a sleep cuddle.

Overall, Sehun reassures the next morning, grimacing at the smell of Chanyeol’s breath against his cheek, overall, he thinks it was a success. He thinks that Chanyeol’s got a good thing going, definitely.

 

But Chanyeol’s never really had a boyfriend, and he laments his lack of experience in that regard, tapping his fingers restlessly against their coffee table. Overloud, even though, per their schedule, it’s Sehun's silent study block, and Chanyeol is not supposed to be talk. It was in that contract that the residence life people made them both sign.

Chanyeol continues about how like, he knows he's good-looking, knows he's a catch, because well—he's had more than his fair share of eager partners—but he's not used to _pursuing_ somebody. Romantically, really. Sexually, yeah, but like as a _boyfriend_ , not as much.

Sehun doesn’t take the bait, doesn't look up from his notes. _Art History_ , he really needs all of his faculties for this.

Chanyeol only raises his voice. Continues that he _wants_ Kyungsoo to be his boyfriend, wants to start settling down at 22. Really, he should have already at this point, right?

Sehun wrinkles his nose at him, sighing loudly before throwing highlighter in his general direction. Chanyeol squawks indignantly, but thankfully shut ups, grumbling as he retreats into his room.

From behind his closed door, he calls out that he’s _falling in love_ , and this is another mission and Sehun should _support_.

Sehun is vaguely indignant. He’s _always_ supported—even through the especially stupid ones like Mission Convince Chanyeol’s Parents to Get Him a Ferret, Mission Replace Yura’s Blowdryer before She Notices. Chanyeol’s comment is honestly uncalled for. But even after Sehun’s swallowed the hot indignation down, there’s an odd niggling in his chest as he squints at the tiny Van Gogh on the glossy page.

“I’m still his favorite,” he reassures himself, aloud but still quiet because he doesn’t want Chanyeol to hear, or worry.

 

Chanyeol throws himself into it full-heartedly in the coming weeks.

Friendship, flirting, they have Sehun seeing more and more of Kyungsoo. For study dates, to watch new movies, to listen to Chanyeol’s new song, help him work out the kinks in his latest compositions. On the nights when they scrape together enough coins to attend Wing Tuesdays and Pie Rush Wednesdays.

Kyungsoo contributes financially, socially, dropping more than his fair share of wrinkled bills, offering the occasional quip. He's a good addition, objectively speaking. But he takes Chanyeol’s attention, Chanyeol’s very hard to arrest attention and somehow manages to hold it. When Sehun, Sehun has been the only one. Kyungsoo is taking that away from him.

Kyungsoo starts taking from other things, too. Sehun and Chanyeol special things. Redbox Mondays, frozen burritos Thursdays. Video game and alternately music marathons on Sundays.

And it’s not his fault, really, Chanyeol keeps inviting him, and using that voice, the voice that doesn’t work on Sehun anymore but that is charming and persuasive as fuck.

They’ve been idling at the third step, but Kyungsoo keeps coming back. Though his touches and words and gazes are so often fondly unkind, in spite of his stinging slaps, biting remarks, withering gazes, he keeps coming—flirting, _touching_ —back.

And Sehun really, really hates it. By the third week, that vague niggling, vague discomfort, vague distress becomes an almost gnawing, a painfully possessive disregard and painfully potent dose of insecurity. And Sehun doesn’t know who he’s supposed to tell when Chanyeol is his greatest support system, when Chanyeol is his great confidant.

He would propose a mission, too. “Mission Remind Sehun that He Matters, Too. Mission Don’t Take Your Best Friend for Granted.”

But Sehun thinks maybe he’s being unfair, maybe he needs to focus on the task at hand.

And as a result of subsequent interactions, Sehun forms his own opinions about Kyungsoo. Consciously kind, consciously indulgent, opinions independent of this awful _feeling_.

And really, Kyungsoo is nice enough, if not vaguely off-putting. His eyes—those large beautiful eyes, Sehun recalls Chanyeol praising—they’re sharp, cutting. His mouth—that plush gorgeous heart shaped, mouth, Sehun—it’s perpetually pursed in something like cautious indignation, the faintest fondest disdain. There’s a certain unnerving undercurrent of steel beneath the soft demeanor, a hard to categorize _something_ in Kyungsoo’s every calculated moved.

But Chanyeol’s smile is so fucking wide, his eyes crinkling with it, his entire body radiating pure, pure happiness any time Kyungsoo smiles, flirts, touches back.

And maybe Sehun is just a shitty best friend.

 

Four weeks in, mission renamed to “Make Kyungsoo Fall in Love,” deadline extended another 3 weeks, a Wings Tuesday and Sehun is third-wheeling anew. They’re seated across from him, Chanyeol shamelessly flirting between sips of his Mountain Dew, Kyungsoo poking at their fries as they wait for their food. And this is Sehun’s new reality as Chanyeol’s asterisked favorite.

Chanyeol tells some joke, voice deep but lilting, as he pinches Kyungsoo’s cheek. Kyungsoo squirms, smacks him away with a laugh. His pale cheeks flushing, plush lips parting, wide eyes crinkling.

Kyungsoo, Sehun realizes, blinking up at him to study his face in the soft ambient light, in a moment of muted alarm, Kyungsoo is the opposite of everything Sehun is. Kyungsoo is probably appealing _because_ he is precisely the opposite of everything Sehun is. Kyungsoo is a more than welcome change of pace, and maybe Sehun could never hope to be anything less, anything more than Chanyeol's best friend, Chanyeol's favorite only in this regard.

And Sehun wishes suddenly, stupidly that Chanyeol would look at him like that, touch him like that, _want_ him like that. His chest feels too tight, and it almost hurts to breathe. The realization so sharp and jagged, he chokes back a sudden, broken sound. He gropes for his own drink instead, nodding fervently when Chanyeol asks if he's okay.

 

He isn't.

 

And Sehun, he isn’t dense, not emotionally constipated. He knows what it is, this tight tight twist in his gut. It’s jealousy. It’s up until this point untested possession. It’s _Chanyeol is mine, and you can’t fucking have him_. It’s less than platonic attachment, even though Sehun, he isn’t—

At least he doesn’t _think_ he is. Because Sehun, he likes girls. Like really, really fucking likes girls. Likes how soft and warm and round their bodies are. He likes their long hair, soft pink lips, likes their breasts, their hips, their high pitched moans. He likes the smell of flowery perfume, the taste of chapstick and lipgloss, the way it smears against his neck and chest when he presses just _right_ —

He _likes_ girls.

And this Chanyeol thing, it doesn't make much sense, considering just _how much_ Sehun likes girls.

 

That weekend, as if to test a theory or maybe prove a point, he accepts Jihoon’s impromptu invitation to a dorm party, goes solo, gets monumentally drunk, loses himself in the heavy basslines, heavy sways, heavy touches of warm skin against his own. And yeah, Sehun definitely likes girls.

But then he sees Chanyeol, sharp but concerned through the fading cracks of his hangover, and no, it’s still there. This feeling he is too scared to name, too scared to allow

 

Work and upcoming midterms—response paper composition, late night studying, early hours, new product inventory—provide welcome distractions, but all in all he keeps coming back to this almost realization. Sharp and jagged and wrong.

Chanyeol and Sehun, they’ve been best friends—fucking bros—since they were in fucking diapers.

This intrusion, it’s unwelcome, this feeling. He doesn’t understand it. Doesn’t want to.

And Kyungsoo and Chanyeol, they keep _being_ in front of him.

 

Wednesday, Chanyeol rests his hand so, so high on Kyungsoo’s thigh, and Sehun looks away, bites hard on his bottom lip, nausea twisting in his gut.

And the more, they flirt, the more painful the tightness. At times, he can barely breathe. It’s been 6 weeks.

 

This isn’t even their longest mission. That had been _Mission: Pass All Your AP Tests and Get Into the College of Your Dreams_ , a year in the making, with monthly progress reports and late nights in Sehun’s room.

But that hadn’t felt as emotionally or physically exhausting as this. That hadn’t sapped his energy and his drive and his spirit. That hadn’t felt like willfully subjecting his heart to hurt.

 

Six weeks into Chanyeol’s mission, Sehun responds to Jongdae's usual, _good morning, my darling ;)_ text with a _can we talk, hyung?_. He arranges a lunch date at the Einstein’s, makes a joke about Jongin’s truly ill-advised crush to lighten the mood as they settle on the old tables.

Jongdae laughs, motions for him to start.

Sehun fiddles with his straw.

“What’s the matter, Sehunnie?” Jongdae trills, reaching out to pinch Sehun’s cheek, then cradle his jaw. “Finally want to come clean about your totally requited crush on your hyung?”

Sehun balks at that, squirms away from the touch. Jongdae’s eyes are crinkling at the corners in amusement.

“Not you, hyung,” he murmurs.

And probably something in his response, probably something in his body language, it has the mirth fading from Jongdae’s expression. His lips purse in quiet thought. “But a hyung?” he guesses.

Sehun looks down at his hands, whispers a quiet _yes_.

Jongdae is suddenly solemn, nods slowly. His hand is still hovering near Sehun’s body, and he closes it over his shoulder, squeezing hard. Sehun looks up at him. “That's okay, you know. It’s okay to like boys. Boys and girls, that’s okay. It’s even okay to like a… _friend_.”

But it’s not. It’s really not, Sehun wants to argue. Not for _him_. Because it isn’t really him—this momentary distraction, momentary intrigue. And this isn’t his purpose. This isn’t the mission. But instead he acquiesces with an insincere nod, lifts his sandwich to his mouth.

 

He resolves to bury this deep, deep, deep. And Sehun is maybe having a crises of self. This ache becomes an active painful yearning.

 

That night, a Thursday, he opts out frozen burrito Thursday, very determinedly closing his bedroom door in Chanyeol’s pouting face, sparing a nod in Kyungsoo’s direction. He has a theory to test.

He can hear their muffled voices through the door then the television set. Because frozen burrito Thursdays are also the days they watch telenovelas and try to put their 2 years of Spanish to some use. Kyungsoo and Chanyeol are already indulging in the routine as Sehun locks the door, stuffs the corner of his shirt into his mouth, shoves earbuds into his ears, opens an incognito tab on Google Chrome, browses new categories on his favorite porn site, tellingly imagines others filling those roles.

 

He comes away more confused than ever, wondering again whom he’s even supposed to confide in, now that Chanyeol—his greatest confidant—is the very object of his distress.

 

Friday morning, as Sehun readies himself for another shift at the campus bookstore, stirring a little tensely at his coffee, Chanyeol stumbles into the kitchen sleep-rumpled and jittery, too, much much earlier than he needs to.

He’s wearing his pajamas, still, and his eyes are lined with faint bruises.

Sehun, stirring in another spoonful of sugar, asks him why he’s up so early. Chanyeol frowns, rest his hip against the counter, long and lean and lithe. Sehun tears his eyes away.

He’d—he’d wanted to ask Sehun something last night, had waited for Sehun to come back out after Kyungsoo left but he _hadn’t_.

And that neosoul singer that Kyungsoo and Chanyeol have been talking about, the one whose Soundcloud and Twitter they’ve been religiously refreshing for the past weeks, she is having a debut EP release party this weekend. And Chanyeol managed to get two tickets, and normally—normally he’d invite Sehun because concerts are _their_ thing, but it’s not Sehun’s style and is it okay if he invites Kyungsoo instead. Just this once.

And oh, this is probably his real date, Sehun realizes, nodding as he lets the spoon fall back into his Disneyland mug.

This is step 4. One step shy of Chanyeol’s ultimate goal. 6 weeks in.

This is _good_.

“Of course,” Sehun agrees, and Chanyeol beams, lands a nauseatingly, irritatingly tender kiss on his cheek in response, wrapping his too-long arms around Sehun in a tight, tight thank you back hug.

 

But it doesn't go as planned, Chanyeol laments the next night, squeezing onto Sehun's mattress late, late Saturday night or early, early Sunday morning. His breath blows hot against the nape of Sehun’s neck as his denimed legs scratch against Sehun’s own bare skin.

Kyungsoo, he flirts back, right? Chanyeol hadn't imagined that, right?

Sehun agrees with a small, sleepy sound, and Chanyeol sighs loudly, forlornly, recounts that even then Kyungsoo kept calling Chanyeol his _friend_. He kept saying that he was glad that Chanyeol was such a great, great _friend_. And he’d stopped Chanyeol’s movement when during one of her slower songs, Chanyeol’s had gone to squeeze Kyungsoo closer, hold his hand.

“Is he testing me?” Chanyeol whispers, nuzzling more fully into Sehun’s tired body.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Sehun whispers back, and Chanyeol is so, so vocally into that idea, much too loudly thanking him for how late it is.

He squeezes Sehun tight, drops kisses along the nape of his neck, his shoulders as he hums about how Sehun always takes _such_ good care of him, even though Chanyeol is the hyung. How instrumental he always is to Chanyeol’s missions. Sehun is so important.

“I love you, kid,” he confesses into the collar of Sehun’s shirt. “You’re my favorite,” he continues, voice dripping with affection and conviction like he truly, truly means it.

 

The soft, soft affirmations continue into the next morning, Chanyeol sleepily following him into the bathroom to brush their teeth, then onto their couch, curling close and promising he appreciates him as Sehun shuffles into the kitchen to serve them cereal. Rice Krispies, three spoons of sugar for Chanyeol, none for Sehun.

“Sehunnie,” he calls, voice teasing, lilting. “Are you jealous because I spend so much time with Kyungsoo now? Are you feeling deprived, my darling dongsaeng?”

Sehun, swallowing hard, doesn't deign him with a response. He sets the bowls down with a clink, plops down beside Chanyeol on the couch. The elder clings to him immediately.

“You’re still my favorite,” he laughs, wrapping an arm around Sehun, forcing him to nuzzle into his armpit. He hasn’t showered since coming home, and the smell is _awful_. But Chanyeol just tightens his hold, and Sehun relents. He lets himself be urged even closer then shifted, cradled. Chanyeol’s breath is warm against his throat, his fingers light as they dance up his clothed chest.

“We’ll find you a girl, too,” Chanyeol decides. “That way you can stop pining after your hyung.”

Sehun is very, very careful not to let his body stiffen.

 

Chanyeol, as if sensing Sehun’s true desires, doesn’t invite Kyungsoo over that night. Chanyeol and Sehun order Chinese food, play Mario Party 4 together on Sehun’s dusty Gamecube, listen to that new EP. Chanyeol occasionally leans his head on Sehun’s shoulder as he hums along to the music, teases him about his utter inability to win Mini Games.

Pulling away, Sehun regards him, dissecting his features, his body. Chanyeol’s pink lips, his big eyes, his strong arms, broad body, his large, nimble fingers, the way his throat bobs as he takes a swig from his Coke. Has Chanyeol _always_ been this beautiful? When did Chanyeol get this beautiful?

Jerking him back to reality, Chanyeol asks him if he remembers that he’d promised to talk to Kyungsoo, whether he still feels comfortable doing that still. Chanyeol is gonna go the library after class, give them a chance to talk before picking out the movie.

And at just the mention of Kyungsoo, Chanyeol is fucking _radiating_ with love, or at the very least overwhelming affection.

Sehun nods numbly.

 

That night, shirt stuffed into his mouth, Sehun watches another video. Then another, then another, then another, distracting himself from the moment of his reckoning.

 

Sehun and Kyungsoo haven’t interacted much one-on-one, and Sehun squirms nervously when he opens the door, offers him a drink, motions him to the couch. Kyungsoo’s gaze on him is, as always, far too calculating, far too unnerving.

“How was your EP date?” he asks, setting down an apple juice box.

Kyungsoo regards him carefully. “It wasn’t a date,” he says simply, stabbing the straw through the box. “Chanyeol and I aren’t going on dates.”

And the levity of his voice, the utter casualness of this for him, when Sehun has been hurting for this, it has the words falling out of Sehun’s mouth. Reckless, desperate. “It is for him,” Sehun breathes in a rush. “He has the biggest fucking crush on you, Kyungsoo. You need to stop dragging him along. He’s practically in _love_ with you.”

“I know,” Kyungsoo responds, and doesn’t even fucking _blink_. Of course, he would know. Of course, Chanyeol’s been less than subtle.

“Well, aren’t you going to—” At his side, Sehun gestures wildly. “Like him back?”

Kyungsoo shakes his head, purses his lips. And he really is beautiful, just like Chanyeol. Chanyeol really does deserve somebody so beautiful.

“Why not?” Sehun demands, and he can hear the wavery anger in his own voice. Kyungsoo should—he should fucking _want_.

“I’m not…” Kyungsoo pauses delicately, sets his juice box down, meets his eyes. “Sehunnie,” he starts. And Sehun is worried that Kyungsoo is going to reach up to pinch his cheek or maybe ruffle his bangs. And, he’s so on edge, Sehun knows he’ll probably cry if that happens. Can’t stand to be comforted by his unwitting rival in this entire fucked up affair.

But Kyungsoo thankfully doesn’t touch him, patronize him. No, he stares at him for a long, long, long time.

Sehun feels stripped bare, peeled apart, naked and vulnerable. Sehun wants to fucking cry so, so, so badly. Squirming, he just barely manages to resist the urge

“I’m not going to take him from you,” Kyungsoo says, words measured, tone delicate, eyes so soft. “I know how you feel about him,” he adds after a long, long beat.

And oh, this is—pity. Unwelcome and unwarranted.

“He’s not—even if he feels the same way,” Sehun stammers, rubbing at his mouth, nose tickling, body heating. “He’s not just gonna jump from me to you. He wants _you_. Want him back.”

“I think,” Kyungsoo starts, slow, quiet. “I think he just might. You’ve been so busy watching me, you haven’t see the way he looks at you sometimes.”

Something warm blooms in Sehun’s chest, but he kills it before it has chance to spread to his lib, become fully formed as anything akin to hope, security. He can’t allow himself to actually want this. He can’t allow himself to believe he’s even allowed to want this.

“But I’m not even,” he starts, and Kyungsoo’s lips stretch into a grimace. And he does touch him, then, fingers skating up his bicep, squeezing just briefly before dropping limply. Sehun feels a telltale rush of moisture, blinks rapidly to will the tears away. “I know you are, and he is. And he _wants_ you, Kyungsoo. He really does. I don’t understand how you could not want him when he’s— _everything_. He’s so easy to want, easy to love.”

Kyungsoo's smile is almost sad. “Don’t let that or me get in the way.”

 

Kyungsoo finishes his juice box, leaves with another soft, misplaced encouragement. It takes Chanyeol an awfully long time to come home.

 

It’s a Redbox Monday, and per their plan Kyungsoo should already be here. Chanyeol raises his voices, his eyebrows in question.

Still seated on the couch, knees pulled to his chest, Sehun offers an "I want to talk about something” by way of greeting.

"But where's Kyungsoo?" Chanyeol says, nodding absently in his direction.

And no, Kyungsoo was wrong, was selling himself short. Of course, Chanyeol wants him. Wants him, not Sehun. The confession or shame or anger lodges itself deep and thick and bitter in his throat. "I'm gonna text him. I just want to check that nothing happened.”

"I want to tell you something."

Chanyeol’s step closer, denimed thigh brushing the ugly upholstery as he types his message.

I've been having feelings..." Chanyeol nods at him to continue, distracted, and Sehun wants to reach out and tug on his ears or pull his hair or cradle his face and force his gaze. Sehun wants to make him focus, arrest his attention, the way that Kyungsoo easily, so inadvertently does. And even now when Kyungsoo's agreed to slacken his hold, even now it's still not enough for Sehun to win. “Chanyeol,” he says, “this is important. Please.”

And Sehun is remembering Mission: Get Sehun to Swap Spit, remembering the way that Chanyeol—who had already kissed tons of ~~boys~~ girls—had been there to reassure him that it was okay. His time would come, and it’s all fucked up because Chanyeol is so awfully, unwittingly entangled in this mess of emotion and confusion. But Sehun just needs his best friend.

“Chanyeol,” he repeats.

Chanyeol sets his phone down, spares one more glance as the indicator light blinks with a notification. Kyungsoo's response.

"You have a crush," Chanyeol says, and Sehun ignores the dismissal in his voice. "Do you want me to help you land her?"

"It's...a boy."

And that at least gets Chanyeol's attention. That at least has him tearing his eyes away from his screen, from the promise of Kyungsoo’s regard.

“You're—” And he steps closer, reaches out to touch Sehun’s wrist, tilts his head down to capture his gaze. And Sehun, deliriously remembers the inverse of this, 9 years ago, remembers Chanyeol’s stammered confession, remembers the way the words had been pressed into his shoulder and the way that Chanyeol’s arms had wrapped around, begging him not to let him go. And that had been a mission, too. Mission: Tell Chanyeol’s Parents and Not Have Them Hate Him. Mission: Embrace This.

“You like men?” Chanyeol tries.

“I—I don't know...?”

Chanyeol’s eyebrows pinch in concern, confusion. Sehun can’t quite bear to look at him further.  
But some ugly part of Sehun wants to exploit this, lure Chanyeol closer, shuddering as Chanyeol’s fingers wander to his cheekbone, cradling there.

“I’m scared,” Sehun confesses into Chanyeol’s wrist, still not meeting his eyes. “I’m confused. I don’t know how to process it. I haven’t—it’s just this one person. And I’m _scared_.”

Chanyeol’s fingers whisper over Sehun’s scalp, and Sehun wishes he would close the distance further, wishes he could bury his confession into Chanyeol’s skin more fully, force him to not pull away.

“Who is it?” Chanyeol asks, and Sehun’s hand tightens around his wrist.

“You,” he whispers.

Chanyeol stiffens, but thankfully doesn’t pull away. He stays like that, stiff and silent, but still close enough for Sehun to touch. Still an anchor.

“Chanyeol, I think—I think I'm in love with you? I think I'm like really fucking in love with you.”

“What?” He manages, shocked, disbelieving.

“I think I’m in love with you. I want to— _be_ with you.”

“I’m not some experiment, Sehun.” His tone is _icy_. “I’m not some gay toy to try on for size. You could just as easily with Jongdae, so you don’t have to—”

“I know you aren’t,” Sehun insists. “You wouldn't ever be—It’s _you_ , Chanyeol.”

“That isn’t _fair_ , Sehun. You have no right to drop something like this on me.”

“I know, but I just—”

“You have no fucking _right_.” And he’s wresting his arm back, and Sehun is trembling.

“ _Hyung_.”

“No.”

Chanyeol’s voice is gruff, his body purposefully looming, stance threatening. Sehun watches his adam’s apple work as he swallows. And when Sehun looks up, steels himself enough to see it through, he sees that Chanyeol is _crying_. Angry and _crying_. He wipes hastily at his eyelids.

“Please,” Sehun says. Though he doesn’t know what he’s even asking for, can’t even begin to put it into words. “Just—I’m not even asking you to want me back, but please don’t think it’s some _joke_.”

“Can I—can I just process all of this?” Chanyeol finally says, shaking his head hard.

Sehun nods, retreats into his room. He tries valiantly not to cry.

 

Sehun sneaks out at two in the morning, avoiding a conflict, but munching on raw ramen in the middle of the kitchen, stomach twisting with the nausea of unresolved conflict. Hardly their first fight in the 20 years of Sehun’s existence, 20 years of their friendship—they’ve fought over Pokemon cards, over spots on the basketball team, over inane thing slike favorite superheros, best comic books, best anime protagonists—but this the scariest, the one that might very well break them apart.

 

The next morning, face puffy from failing so hard at his resolution not to cry, Sehun catches sight of Chanyeol in the kitchen. Even though he shouldn’t be awake, doesn’t _have_ to be for another couple of hours. Tense, timid, Sehun murmurs out a quiet good morning.

Chanyeol looks like he hasn’t slept much either, face haggard, lined with exhaustion, toothpaste smeared white around his mouth. His shoulders are so tense, his eyes narrowed into a precarious distrust.

Reaching for the coffee beans, Sehun pauses, licks along the inside of his cheek to taste spearmint, regret. “I’m sorry,” he says. Soft, hesitant. “I talked to Kyungsoo last night, and I _tried_ Chanyeol. I tried so fucking hard to see our mission through. But he said—” Sehun stumbles over his words, speaking to Chanyeol’s back. “He said that he didn’t—didn’t want that. He said he didn’t want to take you from me. And I know he’s what you want, but _I_ want you, Chanyeol.”

Chanyeol finally, finally turns to face him, turns to touch him, and things are coming to a head.

Chanyeol presses his forehead to Sehun’s, eyelashes kissing against his skin, breath fanning hot against Sehun’s trembling mouth. His hand is pressed to Sehun’s throat, thumb rubbing there in something like distress. “You just dropped it on me,” he whispers, words tight, wet. Pressed this close, Sehun can nearly taste them, the hesitance, the softness. “I love you, Sehun, you know that. But this is so sudden, and I didn’t even know you liked—could like me. And I love you, but this is _different_.”

Sehun swallows hard, eyes fluttering shut as Chanyeol’s thumb skims his jawline, teases over his chin. “I know.”

“And you just dropped this on me. Like you’re some consolation prize, and I—” Chanyeol exhales quickly. “You’re my best friend.”

“I know, and—and Kyungsoo…”

Chanyeol presses their noses together, shifts just slightly, lips grazing the corner of Sehun’s mouth, testing. Sehun’s hands tense to fists at Chanyeol’s sides, lips parting at just the exquisite prospect.

Slowly, slowly, slowly, Chanyeol slots their mouths together, kisses his top then bottom lip, a soft, soft taste.

Sehun melts into it with a muted moan, going instantly pliant beneath him, heart hammering in his chest. He falls back against the counter, wraps his thighs around Chanyeol’s waist to urge him closer. Complying easily, Chanyeol parts his lips, deepens it just just just briefly, before pulling away, breathing already labored, eyes already heavy-lidded.

Soft, reverent, movements so painfully exquisitely slow, he presses another kiss to Sehun’s nose, his forehead.

Sehun’s heart clenches in his chest, lips wobbling into a smile as he catches Chanyeol’s large, liquid eyes. They’re brimming with affection and something almost like want as he drags his thumb over Sehun’s swollen, sensitive bottom lip.

 

Sehun can’t help grinning on his walk to campus, in the middle of his lecture, at the mess hall as he gropes for condiments. His chest is blooming with warmth, the happiness suffusing his entire body, and it keeps spilling out of his mouth, his eyes.

Chanyeol sends him a screenshot of the delete page on Google Calendar. Mission: Make Kyungsoo Fall In Love. It serves as a more explicit clarification on the morning's tacit agreement.

 

And Chanyeol is waiting for him when he gets home. Another kiss. A breathless "Are you sure?" They stumble onto their couch.

Without the time constraints of morning lectures, Sehun is allowed to plumb the depths of his mouth, breathlessly and eagerly explore new territory, allowed to stumble headfirst into this new, new thing.

They’re roughly the same size, though Chanyeol more filled out, solid, tall. And he feels extra grounding like this, pinning him by the lips, by the hips on their too-small coach.

And this is what it’s like to make out with a boy. Perfect, hot, eager, wet.

Chanyeol pulls away after a particular thorough grind, shiver-inducing suck to ask again if this is really okay. It’s moving so fast, is Sehun really sure he’s okay with how things are going.

His lips are slick and swollen, and yeah, Sehun just wants to kiss him a little bit more. A lot more. Touch him maybe, too.

“Please, hyung,” he whimpers.

And Chanyeol makes this sound, distressed and needy, husky as fuck, before dragging him forward into another kiss, rocking his hips down into him, so Sehun rocks against him, too. And _fuck_ that feels amazing, the solid, hot, hot friction has pleasure zipping up his spine. And Chanyeol is really too, too good at making Sehun pant and moan and whimper into their every kiss.

Chanyeol goes to other boy’s places instead of bringing guys home, but he has sex with boys on a semi-regular basis. Chanyeol knows what he’s doing. Already knows what he likes and how he likes it. And Sehun is just fumbling behind him, eager, but still wary. Worrying about his lack of experience, once more about the fact that he’s doing this with Chanyeol—Park Chanyeol, his best friend, who he could never, ever lose and why is he—

Sehun stiffens suddenly in his arms

“I’ve never—“ Sehun murmurs in a quiet rush. “I don’t know how to—“

Chanyeol swallows slowly, and Sehun’s eyes follow the movement.

“What do you want to do?” he asks, and his voice is so deep, raspy with arousal. It sends a fresh frisson of heat down Sehun’s spine, as glazed eyes meet his own. And Chanyeol’s large large eyes look so fucking dark like that, and his eyelashes cast heavy shadows across his cheekbone as his eyebrows pinch with pleasure.

“Touch you,” Sehun decides. “Can I touch you?”

Chanyeol’s heavy, trembling hand guides Sehun’s own. Sliding Chanyeol’s zipper and boxers down just enough, Sehun licks his palm then bites back at groan at the twitch and pulse of warmth beneath his palm. Sehun drags the thumb of his free hand lengthwise up Chanyeol’s throat, drags him into another kiss. He relishes in the slick warmth of Chanyeol’s mouth, the low timbre of his heady moans, the warmth, the thickness of Chanyeol’s cock against him.

Sehun marvels at how different it is, touching someone else’s cock versus touching his own. How it’s familiar in a way, but so so new, as Chanyeol guides his pace, shows him how to touch him best.

Chanyeol—distressingly responsive Chanyeol—he can only keep up with it all for so long. He drops his hand, drops his head, panting his heated approval against Sehun’s neck. Sehun shudders in his hold, unbearably turned on, grinding eagerly against the firmness of Chanyeol’s thigh.

“Harder,” Chanyeol breathes after a while, choking on a helpless whimper. His teeth graze Sehun’s pulse point as Sehun drags the heel of his palm even harder, tightening his grip. “Perfect,” he groans, dropping a ragged moan into Sehun’s skin. “That’s _really_ good.”

Sehun quickens his pace in response, and Chanyeol becomes even _louder_. He is making that distressed sound again, or something awfully similar—just slightly deeper. Molten heat surges through Sehun’s veins.

"Can I touch you, too?" Chanyeol breathes, voice all raspy. "Is that okay?"

Sehun agrees with a helpless moan, the tilt of his hips.

And balanced on one trembling elbow, Chanyeol drags appreciative fingers along the straining seam of Sehun’s pants, cock pulsing in Sehun hold, like he's turned on. Feeling that Sehun is turned on.

_Fuck_ , that's hot. New, but hot.

Chanyeol tugs restlessly to free him, spares two long, luxurious strokes before dragging his thumb in a teasing circle along the head, provoking a loud, low moan.

“Let’s—together,” Chanyeol urges, then, shifting to press himself fully against Sehun, bare cock to bare cock, the most delicious, foreign, hot, hot friction. He takes them both into his hold, buries his face in the crook of Sehun’s throat again.

Pressed like this, the friction is a little too dry, just shy of uncomfortable, but Sehun can feel the tremor of Chanyeol’s every helpless response. And it fuels his own arousal, has pleasure mounting and mounting and mounting.

Chanyeol bites down on his neck, and Sehun shudders, moans.Chanyeol does it again, harder, tongue coming out to sooth the sting, teeth scraping in a gorgeous reminder as he disengages.

Sehun drags him forward, urges him to do it again

His reaction just as helpless and full-bodied the second, third, fourth time Chanyeol does it. Chanyeol’s lips drag deliciously against his collarbone, his hair scraping over his throat, teeth latching. And all the while, his hand and cock continue to skate, stroking his arousal with a single-minded purpose that has Sehun gasping and writhing desperately, right right right on the edge.

It only takes two more bites for the sensations to overwhelm him, for orgasm to wash over him with a breathtaking, shattering force. His cock stutters, pulses in Chanyeol’s hold as he spills against Chanyeol’s shirt. He collapses back onto the couch, head thunking against the arm as every nerve ending is flooded with pleasure.

Chanyeol bites down again when he comes moments later, rocking down onto him with a deep, deep moan, pressing messy kisses to his skin in the receding warmth of afterglow. Sehun curls into them, drags his fingers down Chanyeol’s scalp, teasing over the shell of his ear just to make him shudder.

It’s not the first time they’ve cuddled, but the first time like this. Sticky, sweaty, sated, balanced on the cusp of something looming and important.

And Sehun is scared to break the sacred silence that hangs between them, scared of questions that still need answering and labels that still need deciding and boundaries and feelings and what this all means.

Chanyeol, fluttering kisses along his cheekbones, up up up to his nose, the wrinkle between his brows, he breaks the silence first. “You’re my favorite,” he breathes.

And that really is all the clarification that Sehun needs as he loops his arms around Chanyeol’s neck, drags him into a lingering kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> another double crosspost, from chanhun exchange 2015 and my lj comm


End file.
